


Anchor

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 12:55:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7802692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean tries to keep everything together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anchor

**Author's Note:**

> Not set in any particular season, not beta-read, or re-read by me before posting. Written to get past some feelings; please don't be unkind if there is anything you think needs to be changed/improved. I know it needs checking and cleaning up but thank you for reading <3

Dean shivered slightly as the wind rattled what was left of the windows in their creaking frames. The farm was derelict and hardly fit for them to shelter in, but had been the first viable place to stop. He’d grabbed a few pillar candles along with the first aid kit and the bottle of whiskey that doubled as antiseptic and painkiller from the back of the Impala and set up a temporary workstation on one of the two usable chairs left in the kitchen. It was important to keep their supplies clean, Dean thought as he opened the metal box, checking again that he had enough. The weapons bag was in easy reach, and he scanned the room, nodding to himself and letting out a shaky breath. His mind flicked briefly to Sam, safely back at the bunker as of a few hours ago after successfully helping Jody with a rugaru. He tried to calm down, grateful that Sam had made it back okay. Two more minutes. He would give Cas two more minutes and then he would go get the stubborn son of a bitch. Cas had refused any help out of the car, insisting he could do it himself and telling Dean he just needed a minute. He let Cas have his time, even though it meant Dean had to fight the bone-deep itch to take control. The pack of nachzehrer they had been hunting a half hour down the road had been another close call and Dean knew that this time, it had to be the last, no exceptions. He had been good at ignoring the signs; excelled at selfishness and being disgustingly indulgent with Castiel, wanting him close. He told himself Castiel was safest where he could see him, especially now that he was starting to get slower. Starting to crawl into himself, as if he could see now that time was finite and wherever he would end up, it wouldn’t be with Dean. Their words, always quieter than their actions, were now more than ever a hurried jumble of frayed tempers and tender apologies. Dean knew they were papering the cracks with the minutiae of eight years together. In his quiet moments, Castiel seemed to be fighting an invisible war that Dean knew too well. They kept moving, but no matter how long or how fast or how far he drove, Dean knew that there was no way to outrun this.

He stood in the gloom, slowly scrubbing his chin, not really focusing on anything except the gentle ebb and flow of the shadows against the walls. Dean tensed immediately when he heard footsteps, his hunter’s instinct prompting a quicker reaction than his brain could process the pattern of familiar footfall. His head snapped up and his heart softened at the bruised and bleeding man leaning into the door jamb to prop himself up.

_“Cas”_ Dean breathed, rushing forwards and guiding him to sit. Castiel hunched over slightly and pushed against the back of the chair in an attempt to relieve his discomfort. After a few long moments, Castiel let Dean help him out of his coat and undo his shirt so that he could clean and dress the jagged wound on his chest. Carefully, Dean set to work. Castiel watched silently, doing his own visual check to make sure Dean wasn’t hurt. Dean gave the tape one last careful press to secure the gauze and knelt down in front of Castiel, head slightly bowed. He wouldn’t let go of Cas’s hand now that he could hold it. His thumb traced a well-worn path back and forth on Castiel’s palm. Dean wasn’t sure which of them it was meant to soothe, but neither ever pulled away. Castiel wove gentle kisses as he made his way from the crown of Dean’s head to his ear, murmuring that they were both safe, and that he should call Sam to let him know they would be back by morning.


End file.
